


there's no get-out-of-jail-free, but maybe there's love

by Quillium



Series: Dr. Wayne AU [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Damian Wayne-centric, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillium/pseuds/Quillium
Summary: If you were to ask Damian what love was, he’d have to think about it.Think long, and hard, and then eventually, he’d say that it was the willingness to carve out your own heart and place it in the hands of the one you loved.OR: Damian Wayne, and learning what unconditional love might be.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: Dr. Wayne AU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715896
Comments: 20
Kudos: 127





	there's no get-out-of-jail-free, but maybe there's love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldkirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldkirk/gifts).



> Y'all know the drill, do we need to go through it? I mean, of course. If you have not slept 8 hours in a row, drank water in the past hour, stretched in the past half hour, eaten something solid in the past three hours or said something nice about yourself today, you must do all those things before you are allowed to continue reading. You got this.
> 
> TW: There's one scene where someone wrecks someone else's room, if you don't want to read it, stop reading after the scene with Dick and you can read the last paragraph.

Damian spills eight bean congee at 9:45pm. It is a Tuesday, and as per his father’s instructions that the members of the house make sure their bodies are performing at maximum capability, most of the others are preparing to sleep. 

Damian would be asleep already on most nights, (father says that he performs most efficiently and optimally with at least ten hours and Damian is smart enough to sleep when necessary,  _ coughDrakegotosleepcough _ ), but tonight, he is doing his homework.

And it is when he is doing his homework that Todd walks in with a bowl of hot congee on a tray.

“You missed dinner.”

Damian says, “Thank you. I will take it,” and reaches out to take the bowl, planning to put it on his desk.

Todd says, “Careful, it’s hot.”

And if you ask Damian later, he might be ashamed to say it, but he honestly isn’t sure how it happens.

It, of course, being the congee spilling spectacularly over Damian’s pants and feet, a bit of Todd’s shirt, the floor, Damian’s desk, the walls, and a little on the corner of his sketchbook.

It’s a blur, he rips off his pants before the hot soup can seep through and runs to the bathroom sink to run cold water over his feet, counting a minute in his head before rushing back, where Todd is wiping the desk with a white towel stained purple and red with the beans.

“Shit, sorry,” Todd mumbles as Damian kneels down to wipe the floor, “I know you were working.”

“No, thank you,” Damian says. He is stuck on the fact that he just spilled the food, and that Todd brought in food for Damian’s sake, knowing that Damian did not eat dinner.

It is making him feel something but he isn’t sure what, yet.

“Shit, your walls have some, too.”

Damian wipes the walls. The congee bits come off easily--almost surprisingly easy. One swipe and it’s perfectly clean.

Todd’s shirt and pants are missing. Damian’s not sure where they went, but keeps wiping.

Todd says, “Sorry, kiddo, I got some on your sketchbook. I know it was important.”

And Damian can’t explain it, he can’t put it into words the right way, but he thinks it’s wrong, that Todd is apologizing when he was doing something good to Damian, something kind purely for Damian’s sake.

Todd went out of his way for Damian, he can’t  _ apologize _ .

“No,” Damian says. His mind races for something that Grayson would say. “I--the stain gives it character. It is made unique through this incident. Which is positive. Because it is one-of-a-kind.”

“You have to strain yourself for that?”

“Shut up, Todd.”

“I’m not making fun. I mean, I kinda was, but I shouldn’t’ve. It was good--you were being nice and positive, too. You’ve really grown, kiddo.”

“Oh,” Damian stares at his feet, something strange and warm building in his chest. 

Dimly, he thinks, perhaps he should regret this. Perhaps he should feel upset that he spilled the congee, perhaps he should be running a scenario in which he didn’t mess it up.

Truly, though, if Damian were to be honest, he isn’t worried about it at all. It feels so--so matter-of-fact. As though it were simply life. As though he doesn’t really have to worry about it, because he’s so certain that it’ll be fixed, that nobody’s mad at him.

The trust he has in Todd, his family, that they will forgive him--no, that they won’t even blame him in the first place, not even a little--should scare him.

Part of it does, but not because he thinks he could lose it--but because he has grown to rely on it so much.

When did--when did Damian get so used to being loved like this?

When did Damian decide it was  _ okay  _ to just--to just  _ trust _ so easily, to act like his family would always be here to cover his mistakes and--

And what?

Love him?

Yes, Damian is certain of that.

The realization feels like being plunged in cold water.

Things don’t last forever, Damian isn’t stupid, he isn’t a  _ child _ , he knows that things don’t last, people don’t last, if they don’t leave him then it’s because they’ll die, someday, and Damian won’t know what to do because he’ll have grown complacent and--

He’ll have gotten used to being  _ helped _ . To being  _ loved _ . To having--to having others watch his back, he’ll have grown to just--expect it--

“Thank you,” Damian says. He kneels down to help Todd wipe the floor, and this is  _ wrong _ , he should be correcting this but he wants--

He wants to keep this feeling, a little longer.

How stupid is this? How childish, how naive, how--

Damian wants to feel safe and loved a little longer. He doesn’t even care, in the moment, whether he deserves it or needs to earn it because he knows that it’s just--

It’s just given to him.

No. It can’t be. It can’t--

But Damian knows that he’s broken. Nobody ever tells him but Damian has read the books, watched Grayson’s strange TV shows, talked to the others, he knows that he--he, who is incapable of loving as well as the others, is broken.

He knows that there’s something wrong with him.

He didn’t  _ earn _ this love, he knows, because when he first came, he did everything that should have put them off, he knows that he is prickly and rude and too blunt and needs correction but--

They don’t push him to correct himself. They tease him and say  _ that’s not nice _ or sometimes father frowns quietly and says  _ I know that you’re yelling because you’re upset and that’s okay _ and patiently just--helps him and--

The point is that Damian knows, okay? 

He understands.

This love is a gift, freely given, and Damian didn’t--it doesn’t rely on Damian.

But it has to--

There must be a breaking point.

Because if there isn’t--

If this love will always be given--

Damian’s grown comfortable. Too comfortable. And part of him worries that if he loses a piece of this happiness, a piece of this love, he’ll break along with it.

* * *

To be honest?

Damian has never thought much about dreams and such before coming to live with the Waynes.

It just wasn’t something that he was allowed. It wasn’t something he thought he had needed. Dreams were for peasants, common folk, those who were not created for a glorious future.

Now, Damian is free.

Now, those surrounding him have different ideas and ambitions and Damian--

Damian isn’t sure.

The idea of a future--one he gets to choose, one where he can decide what he wants and work to achieve his goals--is a concept that he’s still working to wrap his fingers around.

It’s normal, he learns through stories and novels, for children his age to have already envisioned their own futures.

Well that isn’t--that’s not too different from his situation, is it? His was preplanned, sure, and they lied to him about it, sure, but--

He doesn’t know. 

“You can take your time,” his father says, hands wrapped around Damian’s when Damian confesses to this, voice gentle and soft despite having come off a twelve hour shift. “You’re young, there’s no rush.”

“What if I never know?” Damian asks. He doesn’t even think twice about asking.

This ease, with which Damian exposes his skin, reveals his fears, is hauntingly comfortable. Horribly easy.

As though the thought of his father hurting him had never crossed his mind.

(Because it hasn’t. Because--because Damian would never even consider, his family doing something to hurt him. For all his distrust, he will always trust the Waynes and  _ what does this mean _ \--)

“Then you do what you can,” his father brushes a curl from Damian’s forehead and it falls back against his temple as soon as his father’s hand moves away. “And we will take care of you where we can.”

It shouldn’t be so  _ simple _ . It shouldn’t be such a comfort, because nothing is  _ solved _ , no solution was  _ reached _ , his father’s words basically boil down to  _ we’ll see when we get there _ so why is Damian so at  _ ease now _ \--

He folds forwards, his arms linking behind his father’s back, face pressed into his father’s shoulder, and the hands on his back and warm.

“Am I not abnormal? Is it not strange, to want nothing?”

“You want things. Just because you don’t want the same things as other kids your age doesn’t mean they’re the wrong things to want. I’ve rarely wanted the same things as my colleagues so I suppose we’re similar, in that sense.”

“I don’t understand.” Damian says, but that’s a lie. He does understand, and it scares him.

His father is saying he doesn’t want anything from Damian. He doesn’t  _ need _ or even  _ expect _ anything from Damian.

He just wants Damian to be happy. And even that, he wants it to be real, not manufactured.

His father tucks Damian’s head under his chin and says, “It’s okay, you don’t need to. Just know that you can take your time to figure things out, make your own decisions, and if you make a mistake, we’ll help you fix it.”

“I want you to tell me what to do.”

“Do you want us to tell you how to feel as well?”

“Yes. Maybe. It would make things easier.”

“Do you think that things are best when they’re easy?”

Damian frowns at his hands. 

He can pick out the callouses from hours of training with his sword, he thinks about the warmth in his chest when he drinks tea and reads with Gordon, the satisfaction of perfecting a program’s code that washes away all past frustration.

“It doesn’t feel the same,” he says, and it should feel like excuses, it should feel like trying to counter his inadequacy, but it just feels like honesty and trust. “This feels different.”

“There are many reasons for that. One being that you’ve never felt this way before, so the certainty that you’ll overcome this hurdle isn’t as strongly ingrained in you. Another is that this is a lifelong lesson, sometimes without clear check-points of success.”

“Can’t you just teach me?”

“I can give you advice and I can help you, but how would you feel if I never let you pick up your sword and only told you to watch me instead?”

“That would be ridiculous. I have to do it to learn.”

“Exactly.”

“Can you not tell me these things straightforwardly? Why must you use such metaphors and roundabout ways of teaching?”

“If someone only tells you something, it’s hard to understand or fully process. You need to experience something yourself many times in order to understand it.”

“So you won’t help me?”

“I will. And if you want, I--or anyone in this family--can tell you how we would personally deal with your problems. But in the end, you must draw your own conclusions.”

“I don’t understand.” Damian is using those words more and more, these days. And where in the past, it was seens as a flaw, a blemish, it is seen in the Wayne household as something good to say, an opportunity to learn and improve.

Damian wonders when he became so used to it.

“It’s like this. Let’s say that we’re all given a piece of paper. It’s the same piece of paper for all of us, but we’ll likely each use it in different ways. Jason might make some origami, Tim might write on it, and someone else might draw on it.”

“And the problem is the paper.”

“You catch on fast,” his father taps Damian’s nose, smiling. “Now there are some things the paper should not be used for, like throwing at people or eating. But there are many ‘right’ ways to use it, and one that someone else likes might not be something that you like. We can help you experiment with different ways, and we can tell you the wrong ways and some right ways, but ultimately you have to decide what works best for you, we can’t do that for you.”

“And if I eat the paper?”

“Well, I am a surgeon. I’ll help you fix the problem.”

“You won’t get mad?”

“I might get anxious or worried, but I won’t be mad at you, and I won’t hurt you for it.”

_ I know _ , Damian thinks, but doesn’t say it immediately. He shouldn’t say it at all--he has been too vulnerable today already, too honest.

But part of Damian thinks that his father might smile or be happy if Damian said it, so he does. “I know. I trust you.”

Strangely, horribly, the smile on his father’s face makes it worth it, to have taken out his heart and put it in his father’s hands.

* * *

If you were to ask Damian what love was, he’d have to think about it. 

Think long, and hard, and then eventually, he’d say that it was the willingness to carve out your own heart and place it in the hands of the one you loved.

He hasn’t felt it himself, exactly, but that’s the way his mother might’ve always said it. It’s the way his  _ grandfather _ would have said it-- _ if you loved me, you’d do this for me. If you are a filial child, you will do this _ .

Love was, among honour and dignity, something that took and took and carved you up, then demanded you smile as you were served next to the turkey on Thanksgiving weekend.

The ones dining did not give thanks. It was you, vulnerable on the table, who had to be thankful. That was, Damian thought, love.

“And if you love yourself?” Richard asks quietly. “Then who’s the sacrifice?”

Damian frowns at his feet. He doesn’t like the way that Richard verbalizes it--puts it into words, his face carefully blank, as though he is angry and trying to hide it.

But Richard is never  _ angry _ , Damian thinks, because anger comes with pain, and Richard has never hurt Damian. Has likely never even considered it an option.

“It’s not--it’s not a bad thing, to sacrifice,” Damian hedges.

“Sure, of course, I’m not saying so. But is it a good thing?”

Damian chews on his lip and scowls. “I don’t see why you’re asking me these questions. Isn’t it because you think I’m some dumb kid who doesn’t understand things?”

“No, of course not. Dami, you’re brilliant. But there are some things that even the most clever person in the world can’t learn by themselves--and things like love, care, those are some of them. A little push and help is never a bad thing.”

“Reliance on others shows weakness.”

“Is there something wrong with showing weakness?”

The question baffles Damian. Not because he has to reconsider it but because it’s so  _ obvious. _ Even a kid knows that weakness is bad. Weakness is how one is taken down--how empires crumble, how kings are killed, how the one on top exploits those below.

How could it--how could there  _ not  _ be something wrong with it?

He thinks about saying so, but Richard is smart, isn’t he? Damian thinks he is. Damian chose this, he--he looked at his father, at Richard, at the Waynes, and thought  _ this is what I want _ .

So he has to listen, if he wants to learn.

“Is there a way for it to be right?”

“Sure. Right now--when you ask a question, isn’t that showing a bit of weakness? But by showing it to the right people, those you trust, who are capable of helping you, you can get rid of that weakness. Like, in my first year of uni, I got a 15% on one of my midterms. But I told Bruce, told my prof, got tutoring help, and then I managed to pass that course.”

“ _ Fifteen percent? _ ” 

Richard laughs. “Crazy, I know. It’s what I get, I suppose.”

Why would Richard  _ tell _ him this? Why expose such incompetence in his clearly shameful past? Why  _ laugh _ about it?

It’s ridiculous. It’s nonsense. It’s--

Damian thinks it might not be so bad, to have such a mindset, someday, maybe.

Life with the Waynes is difficult and confusing. Their expectations are strange and their way of living and thinking is completely different from life in the League.

It’s okay, though. Damian thinks that he is starting to like difficult things.

Damian’s heart hammers in his chest. “Love is--”

What is it? What could it be? All the novels he’s read seem to slap it on everything, and he doesn’t understand.

What is he supposed to see, here? What is he supposed to--

Richard looks away, thinking about something, and then says to Damian, “You told me that it wasn’t a bad thing, to sacrifice. What situations do you think it’s okay? In which situation is it not okay?”

“You just--” Damian scowls, “You use your discretion. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No, of course not,” Richard kneels and grins lopsidedly. He’s shorter than Damian, now--not that he was that much taller than Damian in the first place, despite all his teasing. “Dami, not knowing things isn’t bad. It’s human.”

Damian’s throat feels closed up with frustration. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“I just want you to know that there’s always a step forward,” Richard answers, “That’s all.”

“You and Todd are just the same,” Damian snaps, “I don’t understand your stupid riddles.”

“It’s not meant to be a riddle. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“...maybe not. But a little, yes. I didn’t mean to frustrate you--and I don’t like your being upset.”

But Damian understands, somehow, here, that it isn’t Richard saying  _ you can’t act upset _ . This is Richard saying  _ I love you, and I want you to be okay, selfishly, selflessly, because that’s what love is _ .

“Love,” Damian mumbles, “Is wanting happiness for the other.”

“Is that your final answer?”

“Do I need a final answer?”

Richard’s answering smile is blinding and bright. “No,” he says, satisfied, and kisses Damian’s forehead, as though he were something brilliant and precious. “I think that sort of love is wonderful, Dami.”

Damian looks at his feet, embarrassed, but smiles still. He’s proud of himself. And he thinks… maybe this pride, this satisfaction… it’s not a bad thing, perhaps.

“I love you,” Damian says, quietly, hesitantly, hoping that it’s okay, to say something so earnest, to be so vulnerable.

Richard’s face looks like Damian just gave him the world. “I love you,” he says, sure and confident, as though if all else failed, this would remain true.

Damian falls into Richard’s arms, ridiculously childlike, but he likes this comfort, this warmth.

Is it such a bad thing, really, to be childish?

* * *

Damian wrecks Timothy’s bookshelf.

He doesn’t remember why, exactly, just that he was angry and panicked and it felt like the only thing to do that would make him stop feeling so trapped.

It’s over something small, he thinks. Timothy touching his katana or flipping through his sketchbook or--

And Damian said  _ stop it _ , and Timothy laughed even as he removed his hand and it was--

Timothy  _ listened _ to him. Timothy respected Damian’s space. But something ugly and angry in Damian’s chest listened to that laugh and said  _ he doesn’t respect me _ .

(He did, though. Damian  _ knows he did _ , Damian  _ knows _ , he doesn’t--)

He doesn’t remember, okay? But everything goes green and Damian smashes Timothy’s skateboard through his window and starts pulling books off of Timothy’s bookshelf and throwing them wherever he can, as hard as he can.

Damian’s not talking, not making sound, not screaming, just methodically breaking everything as best he can.

Timothy doesn’t stop him, eyes wide as he stares out the broken window at his skateboard lying in a bed of Pennyworth’s award winning roses.

And then, after throwing a model plane to the ground and watching it shatter, Damian stops, horrified at what he’s done.

The anger leaves, as fast as he comes, and a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like father’s asks  _ will this make you feel better? _

It doesn’t, of course. It makes him feel worse. Awful.

This is something his mother did, thousands of times. This is something that he  _ knows _ is awful, that he  _ knows _ will hurt, and he  _ still _ \--

He stifles a sob. He doesn’t have the right to be upset, here, he doesn’t have the right to cry, he just wrecked Timothy’s room, he--

He didn’t even communicate or say anything, he just destroyed everything for no good reason.

Damian hates himself. He’s never hated himself so much as he does, here, in this moment, staring at the broken pieces of paper-mache that Damian  _ knows _ Timothy worked so hard on, while Timothy stares out the window, eyes fixed on his skateboard.

He needs to apologize, his father’s voice whispers in his head. But what does he say? What can you  _ say _ in this kind of situation?

Maybe he should leave. His presence undoubtedly would make Timothy uncomfortable, right? He shouldn’t--but what about the books--Timothy probably doesn’t want him touching them but Damian should pick them up--

Damian kneels down and starts picking up the books. 

He carefully pulls off pieces of paper-mache so that they are as unharmed as possible, hating himself when some books are forever folded wrong or have creases or dents in them.

“Stop it,” Timothy whispers when Damian’s halfway done. “Go away.” He won’t look at Damian. Damian thinks he might be trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Damian says. The words feel hollow, empty, on his lips. What good is a stupid apology? What good is--

He knows that this home, for Timothy, just like for Damian, is supposed to be somewhere safe, where you’re protected and comfortable and--

And Damian just destroyed that. For what? For nothing, for absolutely no good reason.

He goes to his father and Brown, leading them to Timothy’s room and leaving them in there with him. Damian sees, for a moment through the crack in the door, Timothy crumpling into his father’s chest and his father’s arms wrapping around Timothy like a shield.

Damian did this.

Damian was the one who--

Brown looks at the door, makes eye contact with Damian, and frowns. She whispers something to Timothy and Bruce, kisses the top of Timothy’s head, and marches over to Damian, who stands there, rooted, knowing that whatever she does to him, he deserved it.

“Are you sorry?” she asks, quietly, shutting the door behind her.

“Yes,” Damian says.

“Will you do it again?”

Damian shakes his head. He can’t cry, he  _ can’t _ , Timothy’s the one who was hurt, and Damian was the one who hurt him. 

Even if the Waynes somehow went insane and decided not to punish Damian, he would never do it again. He thinks that if he even  _ thought _ about doing something like this again, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

He thinks of the satisfied feeling he had when he destroyed everything so methodically, and can’t shake the revulsion that crawls up his spine. Doesn’t know if he’s even allowed to shake that feeling, because isn’t that what he deserves?

“Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” Damian says, and hates himself when he starts crying. “I wanted to hurt him, that was it.”

“You aren’t a bad person, kid. But that was a bad decision, do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand why?”

Damian understands perfectly. He’s had it happen to him a thousand times. That’s why it’s even worse that he did it--that he knew, understood, and  _ still chose to do it.  _ “It hurt Timothy. It scared him, and made him feel unsafe and--”

“That’s enough. Go find Jason and stay with him--don’t try to run away or hurt yourself or anything dumb like that, okay? You don’t have to tell him anything, just--tell him that you did something wrong and I sent you to him.”

Damian runs the words  _ don’t hurt yourself _ over and over on loop.

If he were in the league, still, he would understand it to be  _ because I have  _ plans _ for how you will be punished _ , and dread it all the more.

With the Waynes, the understanding is even worse.

This is Brown still caring for him. Still being kind to him. After he destroyed her and Timothy’s room--after he did that awful thing.

He almost wishes she would just hit him. That would be easier. Because if she’s still good to him… still kind to him…

What is Damian supposed to do, in the face of that?

* * *

Todd doesn’t ask questions. At least, not the way Damian thought that he would. He takes a look at Damian, frowns a bit, and then says, “It’s okay to make mistakes and hurt people. That’s human.”

Damian stares at his feet and shrugs. Maybe Todd will understand once he hears about the situation--maybe then, Todd will realize how vile and unforgivable Damian is, and hate him then.

Maybe Brown’s kindness was a trap, or an outlier, or maybe she’s just so good that she was being nice to him before he’s kicked out or…

Because Damian  _ knows _ how precious Timothy is to his family. Because… because even Damian thinks that Timothy is someone to be respected, loved, and Damian…

Damian’s not stupid. He knows he’s not easy to love.

“Kid. Whatever you did--just don’t do it again, and it’ll be okay.”

“You don’t even know what I did. What if I murdered someone?”

“Kid, you couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I’m not a kid.”

Todd laughs, light, breathless. “Nothing wrong with being a kid. Come here, let’s read together.”

“I don’t want to,” Damian mumbles. He doesn’t want to just--so easily accept Todd’s kindness, friendliness.

Not when he  _ knows _ he doesn’t deserve even an ounce of it.

Todd sighs. “Listen--we’ve all done some awful stuff. Some of us more than others. It’s okay--we live and we learn.”

It’s not that easy. It  _ can’t _ be that easy.

But there’s no point to being stubborn, so Damian sits down on the couch beside Todd and says, “What can I do so that you’d never forgive me?”

Todd wraps his arms around Damian and kisses his hairline, “Don’t you worry--we’ll never find out.”

Damian hates the uncertainty of that. He knows it’s supposed to be reassuring, but instead it makes him anxious that he might actually  _ believe _ it and hold that hope and then--and then mess up so bad that Todd, who’s always honest in moments like these, takes his words back.

“You don’t have to be good,” Todd says, “You’re family.”

“What if I’m not family anymore? Or I hurt someone else in the family?”

“You’ll always be family. Sometimes--family hurts each other. That’s inevitable, really. Apologize sincerely, work hard to be a better person, and it’ll be okay.”

Damian doesn’t say out loud  _ what if I can’t be better? What if I’m just always rotten?  _ because as scared as he is, he thinks that he chose this. He chose the Waynes, their family, this kindness, this weakness--he chose to be loving and kind.

He’ll be better. He just has to work for it.

__

“It won’t make it right,” Damian says to his father, curled up with his face in his father’s stomach, eyes closed. “It doesn’t stop that what I did is  _ wrong _ , no matter what my reason.”

“Of course,” his father says, quietly, voice soft and gentle, fingers through Damian’s hair. “But if we know the reason why you did what you did, or what caused you to feel that way, we can work to prevent it in the future so something like this doesn’t have a repeat performance.”

Damian wants to cry. Wasn’t it enough, that it was bad? That he was wrong? Isn’t knowing that enough?

_ Mother was right _ , he thinks, furious with himself.  _ I am broken, and I really can’t do anything right. _

“I liked hurting him,” Damian admits. “I liked--that I could upset him like that.”

“You wanted to be in control?”

Ashamed of himself, Damian says  _ yes _ .

“Do you know what made you feel like you  _ weren’t _ in control?”

He shakes his head.

His father hums, fingers still going through Damian’s hair.

He doesn’t deserve this gentleness, this soft love.

(But Damian doesn’t push his father’s hand away, either, despite knowing this.

He will be selfish a little longer.)

* * *

Timothy avoids Damian for the next week and Damian, respecting that, does the same.

He hates it. Even a day like this feels strange, off-kilter--something important and good is missing, and Damian was the one who threw it out and stomped all over it.

On the eighth day, Timothy comes to Damian’s room and closes the door behind him and says, “We need to talk.”

Damian, who’s sketching the sleeping pair of Marge and Sunflower, tries his best not to go stiff. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says, carefully.

“We  _ need _ to,” Timothy repeats, and then walks in and sits on the edge of Damian’s bed. “You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

“I--I’ve been giving you space, since I thought you wouldn’t feel comfortable around me.”

Timothy squints at him, and then nods. “That was nice. I might’ve needed it, yeah. But you’re like, ten. Anyways. I just--were you expecting to avoid me forever?”

“If it was so necessary.”

“Sounds kinda awkward.”

“I was prepared to be kicked out of the house. To be allowed to stay is more than enough.”

“You talked to Bruce about that?”

Damian bites his lip and looks away. He hadn’t brought up the topic, despite knowing he ought to, because he was scared that his father really might follow up on it, and kick Damian out.

And Damian can handle himself, he can, it’s just…

He loves this family, as selfish and ridiculous as it is.

“We’re not going to kick you out, Damian.”

_ You don’t know that _ . “Why did you come here?”

Timothy clearly knows what Damian is doing, but he doesn’t comment on it, instead sighing and asking, “Are you trying to pretend you don’t know?”

And… here’s the thing. Damian does know, sort of, in the sense that it’s likely related to the incident where he broke Timothy and Brown’s window and a sizeable amount of their room, but he’s not sure… he’s not sure how this is going to go. Where it’s going.

Will it end in blood? Or only with words?

“Did you… decide on a punishment?”

Because Damian was only told by his father to start a journal, three pages every day, with the promise that nothing would be read if Damian didn’t choose to show his father of his own volition. 

Which isn’t… that’s not a  _ punishment _ , it’s just a habit. A  _ good _ habit. 

So Damian has been waiting. And he’s sure that he wouldn’t be kicked out or even physically harmed but.

The basement is large enough that being put down there for a day or two could probably be called a kinder punishment. Damian hasn’t had any meals taken away, either, but there must be things that  _ could _ be… 

They could take away Marge and Sunflower. Just for a bit--the Waynes aren’t cruel people, they would take care of the dogs, and really, to not have his dogs by his side is hardly painful compared to what else…

“Um, no, no more punishment, Bruce already gave you the journal.”

Damian doesn’t know how to say  _ well, yeah, but I assumed that something worse was going to happen _ in a way that sounds intelligent, so he just doesn’t say that, and instead, dumbly, says, “Oh.”

“Yeah. I--were you worried about that all week?”

“I wasn’t--I wasn’t  _ worried _ \--I know that anything done to me would have been deserved, I--” Damian trails off. He doesn’t know how to end this thought.

“If you’re worried, you could have asked Bruce.”

“Oh. I--thank you.”

“Um, yeah. Well… anyways, I’m here to be like. Let’s… let’s go back to normal. Maybe um… maybe don’t come into my room, just for, just for a few more days but… reading books with you, eating lunch or breakfast together, stuff like that, let’s start it again. I hate this.”

Damian bursts into tears like a  _ child _ . He didn’t think--he didn’t think he’d  _ ever _ be forgiven--of all things that he expected to happen to him, being forgiven wasn’t--

“Please,” he says, “I’m truly sorry about what I did.”

“I know, kiddo. Let’s--we’ll work on it, yeah? It’s no big deal. I think I broke a phone, once, when I had just moved in, so… y’know, we’re good. The skateboard’s barely scraped, even.”

“Thank you,” Damian mumbles, unable to properly put into words just how grateful he is, to have been forgiven so easily.

“Yeah, I,” Timothy clears his throat, “We’re brothers.”

“You don’t owe me forgiveness just because we’re brothers.”

“No, of course not. But I mean--I like being with you, too, sometimes, kiddo. I didn’t want to keep… having the two of us make the other uncomfortable.”

What does Damian do with this? This love that forgave him for doing something so awful to Timothy? This… Timothy saying that he  _ likes _ being with Damian?

Damian hugs Timothy, awkwardly, slowly, and then, more firmly when Timothy immediately hugs back, solid and firm.

“I love you,” Damian whispers. “Thank you.”

“I love you, too, kiddo.”

And he doesn't deserve it. He knows that he doesn't. Damian is not good, or kind, and he messed up.

Still, he holds this feeling, warm and incredible, tight in his chest. It means more than the world, and he'll do his best to do right by it.

* * *

Damian, on “family” and what it means:

Rather than, exactly, that “family” is a get-out-of-jail-free card, which enables you to be automatically loved and forgiven and cherished no matter what, it’s that this kind of family is, probably, something you choose for yourself.

Rather than it being something you’re born with, the sort of family that the Waynes and Damian define is probably more people that you choose to love, and keep loving, and choose the same for you.

It’s people you want in your life, want in your forever and your happily ever after, and who feel the same way.

Or at least--people who you want to live well. People who you’ll work hard for, so that their lives are even just a little bit easier, even when you’re tired or don’t particularly want to do anything.

It’s an honour, Damian thinks. A gift, a treasure, something precious, something rare.

And it’s his. This is his family, whether he deserves it or not, it has been gifted to him.

So he will love his family, so long as he is allowed to.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about adding a scene at the end with Damian cooking with Alfred to make something for a sick Cass, and then a scene with Damian and Cass about forgiveness and love and what it means to choose who you are, but I got lazy and also felt that ending on this off-kilter, imperfect and kind of awful Damian fit the theme of the story a bit more. I'm not really trying to redeem Damian here or say that he's a good person, but I'm saying that he is trying, he's a kid, and his family's choosing to love and care for him without Damian needing to be a good person to "earn" or deserve that love.
> 
> Also I feel like I'm stepping further and further away from the Dr. Wayne's core concept ewoaigjfld


End file.
